THE GUARDIAN

Presenting my sixth story, as well as my first story that doesn't have to do with Narnia. This time, I'm writing about Pinocchio—one of my childhood heroes, and still a dear favorite to this day—and my own character, Terence.

This story is a bit of a tearjerker, so brace yourselves. Though I'll try to not go overboard, I'd strongly advise keeping a tissue or two handy. Feedback is expected!

Pinocchio and Jiminy © Disney

Terence and Story © unicorn-skydancer08

All rights reserved.

Chapter 1: The Discovery

It was a cold, stormy night at the Collodi village. Thick clouds blackened the sky while the rain poured down in steady sheets. Occasionally a fork of lightning lashed across the sky, followed by an ominous rumble of thunder. Most of the villagers that night had enough sense to stay inside their cozy cottages, where they could sit next to a nice fire and enjoy a piping hot cup of tea, with an almond biscotti or a pasticiotto.

However, one solitary figure could be seen tramping through the streets.

The figure was wrapped in a long, heavy cloak, black as the night itself, that went past his ankles. His hood was drawn all the way, obscuring his face and granting him some protection from the rain and winds.

A jagged streak of lightning sizzled overhead, temporarily filling the sky with an otherworldly white glow. The dreadful thunder that followed two seconds later seemed to shake the very earth. "What a night," the stranger muttered to himself as he waded through the street, which was already flooded ankle-deep. "I don't know why I ever thought coming to this place was a good idea to begin with." Glancing around the silent, inactive parish, he added dryly, "It's like the town of the dead here." He sighed, shook his head, and adjusted his hood so that his face was shielded a little better.

As he continued to wander, keeping his eyes peeled for an inn or tavern—or any place at all that was dry, and preferably warm, where he could rest himself from his travels and get a bit of peace—he thought he heard something, something quite distinctive from the drumming of the rain and the growling of the thunder.

It sounded almost like…someone crying.

Puzzled, the hooded man stopped and looked all about, listening intently.

He heard the sound again; it seemed to come from a nearby alley. Tentatively, the man began to approach that alley. The nearer he drew, the more the sound intensified.

It certainly resembled the sound of sobbing, and genuine concern now began to gnaw at the edges of the man's heart.

Inside the alley, it was quite narrow and quite dark. There, the man received a little more relief from the merciless rain, though not much.

As he rounded a corner, he stopped abruptly and stared. What he saw sent immense waves of compassion washing through him.

A small boy that looked to be made entirely out of pinewood was huddled alone in a shadowy corner, under a small projection that kept him from getting too wet in the storm, though he had nothing to keep him warm. From where he stood, the hooded man could see thick, pearly tears spilling from the boy's eyes, running off the end of his long wooden nose that stuck out like a sausage, and the man knew the boy was shaking with more than just cold.

"Don't worry, Pinoke," a nearly inaudible voice was saying. "Everything will work out, somehow." Taking a step closer, the dark figure could just make out a small cricket perched on the boy's knee. The cricket was dressed in a black tailcoat and wore a blue top hat about the size of a pea, and he clutched a miniature umbrella in one hand that looked totally unbefitting for a storm like this.

"I want to go home," the little wooden boy moaned in a voice that sounded no older than that of an eight-year-old. He gulped and sniffled as more tears slid down his nose.

The pitiful sight got the better of the man, and he promptly moved forward to see if there was anything at all he could do to help. The boy already had his face sunk into his gloved hands, so he didn't see anyone coming. The cricket took no notice of the approaching figure, either. When the man stood under the projection with them, he discreetly cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Pardon me."

With a start, the boy and the cricket looked up at the same time to face him.

"Is everything all right?" the man asked them in a soft voice. He lowered himself to one knee on the paved stones, so that he and the puppet were more level with one another. However, when he stretched forth his hand to touch the boy's shoulder, the boy immediately shrank back, as if expecting the man to hit him. "No, no…it's all right," the man said gently, hearing a faint whimper. "I won't hurt you."

But the boy continued to cower, like the man was some demon sent to claim him. The man figured it must be his black cloak and his shadow-eclipsed face that gave the child such a fright.

So, in an effort to make himself appear less formidable, he lowered his hood to his shoulders, revealing his face.

He was exceptionally handsome, for a man. Although he was quite young, his hair was almost pure white, as was the thick goatee that adorned his chin. His hair was short and trim at the back, though his bangs trailed nearly to his bottom lip. Long, thick sideburns framed his face, which was lean but well-formed, with a high, smooth brow and cheekbones, enhanced by deep blue eyes that shone like a pair of sapphires. Above his left eye was an odd mark shaped like a crescent moon. What was even odder was that this mark was a vivid shade of blue, and it glimmered like a jewel even in the dimmest light. You could tell immediately that this man was no common man.

The wooden lad dared to look up somewhat into the man's face, but he still trembled all over and he continued to cower like a terrified animal in a cage.

"Please don't be afraid," the man entreated him. "I mean you no harm." In spite of the shining whiteness of his hair, from the way he looked and sounded, he seemed hardly a day older than twenty.

The boy straightened his posture just a little, but he held his tongue, though tears continued to ooze steadily down his cheeks.

"My name is Terence," the white-haired man continued, now offering a gentle smile, trying his best to sound friendly. "What is your name?"

"P-Pinocchio," said the boy with a sniffle.

"And my name is Jiminy," said the cricket on the boy's knee. "Jiminy Cricket, to be precise. I am his conscience…well, in a manner of speaking."

"If I may," Terence asked the boy named Pinocchio, "what are you doing out here all alone, in this wretched weather?"

Pinocchio tried to brush away his tears, but they kept falling, retracing their salty trails on his face. "I-I'm lost," he faltered. "I-I have nowhere to go. And I'm c-cold and s-scared and h-hungry." He choked up and could say no more.

Overcome with pity, Terence drew the sobbing puppet closer and enfolded him in his sturdy arms, holding him as a mother would hold her distressed child. Although he was soaked from his walk in the rain, Pinocchio was already wet from being out in the storm too, and seemed to neither notice nor care about the difference. The forlorn puppet made no attempt to pull from the embrace, but the feel of Terence's arms made him want to cry harder.

So that was just what he did.

"There, there," Terence soothed. "It's all right. It's going to be okay…"

He held his little friend against him for a few minutes, stroking him, murmuring quiet words of comfort into his ear, and Pinocchio cried until he'd cried himself down to hiccups.

When at last the tears ceased to flow, when Pinocchio managed to calm down and breathe more easily, Terence loosened his grip on him and told him and Jiminy, "Now, come with me. We must get you to some place where you can warm up and dry off, perhaps get a bite to eat as well. There must be an inn or some place close by that would suit us all. If you'll stay close to me, my cloak will keep you from getting utterly soaked until we get there."

"I don't know," said Pinocchio wearily. "I'm so tired. I don't think I can walk so far."

Jiminy nodded. "We both had a rather rough day," he confessed to Terence.

"Well, then, here—let me carry you," Terence offered. "Let me carry you both. I'm sure neither of you weigh much. And even if you did…well, I'm stronger than I look," he added with a light chuckle, attempting gentle humor.

He held his hand out to Jiminy, who didn't hesitate to hop into his palm. "Oh, that's very kind of you, sir," said Jiminy appreciatively as Terence lifted him to his shoulder. "Very kind indeed."

Terence drew up his hood once more, making sure it covered him and Jiminy both before he scooped Pinocchio off the ground.

In spite of himself, Pinocchio couldn't help smiling a little. He had no idea who this man was, but he was immensely grateful to him.

Once Terence was sure both Pinocchio and Jiminy were reasonably comfortable, he climbed to his feet and headed out once more into the pouring rain. The thunder continued to crash wildly around them, and the wind howled as fiercely as ever. It seemed the storm would never end. Pinocchio was afraid, but Terence maintained a steadfast hold on him, and the man's cloak did help the puppet stay dry; or, rather, it kept him from getting any wetter than he already was. Paying no heed to the frigid water washing over his feet and seeping rapidly into his boots, Terence moved along the street at a brisk pace.

Within fifteen minutes, he stumbled across an open inn. A sign that hung over the door read, in big block letters: THE RED MOUNT INN. It wasn't much of a sight, but it looked dry and comfortable enough. Terence could see several lights in the windows, which meant they had to be open for business. He therefore set Pinocchio down carefully on his own feet and took the puppet's hand in his own.

"Shall we?" he asked grandly before he opened the door.

Pinocchio nodded, though somewhat uncertainly.

Pushing the door just far enough, Terence slipped into the building, taking Pinocchio and Jiminy, along with a bit of the rain and wind, in with him.